Harry Potter and the Trials of a Hero
by Locke
Summary: My own attempt at Book 5! I only hope it half lives up to the title... As Harry looks forward to his fifteenth birthday and a new year at Hogwarts, a strange dream signals a mysterious prophecy.... Please read and review!
1. Default Chapter Title

**Harry Potter and the Trials of a Hero:**

# **Part One**

## By Locke

Author's note: Please don't think I'm trying to copy JK, I'm merely trying to fill the void in all our lives until Book 5 is completed! I know this part is very short, but the next ones will be longer and this is essential set-up, so please keep reading as big things are planned. How long it turns out depends on how you feel about it! Enjoy, and please review.

Thanks to Abi for ensnaring me into all this and for inspiring me to try my own version :)

*****

On the northernmost edge of a thick forest stood a mysterious set of ruins, overlapped by the blackness cast by the forked trees. Wild murmurings about the purpose of these ruins held the nearby villages in their sway; and the site itself held a rumour that even the shadows there held their gazes fearfully to the ground.

Long, long ago, the site had played host to a number of ancient, druidic rituals, the mark of a cult that had terrorised the villagers for nearly a century. The earth was still tainted with the sickly touch of black magic, attracting sinister wizards there like flies to jam for many hundreds of years after.

Four weather-beaten stones stood in a rough circle, twisted, mottled knives stabbing through mud and dirt. Moss and lichen scrabbled for purchase, snaking in a shroud of green down each surface.

The first death had occurred there four years ago. A pair of tourists, eager to scour across the local jungles in search of ruins and remnants of lost civilisations, was found dead in the centre of the stone circle. Their bodies were unmarked; and no one could account for the tiny spots of blood found smeared across the stone.

After that, the ruins became something of an attraction. The villages - basic, tribal arrangements of mud huts and market places - were filled with holidaymakers, eager to see what all the fuss was about. An enterprising young businessman set up a stall around the stones, where he charged the tourists exorbitant admission prices and sold a variety of cheap, gimmicky souvenirs that took ample advantage of the couples' gullibility and willingness to believe that there was something in the legends.

So, during the long, hot, Amazonian days, the spirits and the ghosts remained undercover, frankly afraid of the tackiness of it all. 

Under the cover of night, when the shadows had deepened around the stones and sent long, twisted hooks of black to choke the last slivers of light that hid, tentatively, in the far corners of the site, things were very different. The forces that remained hidden all through the day returned and made the scene their own.

Froth boiled and bubbled in amongst the flames of the seething cauldron; a polished black so deep and dark that it could have been formed from the velvety night sky itself. The shadowed forms huddled around it stared into the liquid broiling inside as it began to ripple and shake, resolving into a vague, ghostly image.

'We are sure that he is the one?'

'We can be no surer. It is he, or else all the legends fashioned since time began are but lies.'

Smoke rose in a thick cloud as the first figure raised its arms, its black cowl hanging and billowing in the slight breeze as it raised thin, pointed fingers.

'Then he must be summoned. We must ensure he meets his destiny.'

A sudden cloud of flame gusted over the cauldron as the heavens opened with rain.

???

Many thousands of miles away, a teenage boy called Harry Potter drew his blankets tight around his neck as a cold wind crept in from the night.

He turned his attention back to the book open in front of him, adjusting his grip on his torch so that a shaft of light illuminated the tiny print. He squinted as he tried to make out each letter, his mind working as he struggled to understand what he was reading: T_he Many Properties and Uses of Tangleweed _went far deeper than anything a student about to enter the fourth year at Hogwarts needed to know; yet, it was what he had to struggle through before the end of the month.

Sighing, his forehead covered in a deep frown, Harry slipped a bit of paper between the pages of the book and carefully shut it. His gaze wandered over to the scroll open beside him on the bed, which had already been labelled with the title _'Explain how Tangleweed can be used to make a sleeping draught, and how other substances may be used to influence the effects. Also describe its uses through the ages, with reference to the differing perceptions towards it.'_ __That on its own seemed to cover almost half the page. Harry's former Potions teacher, Snape - who held an obvious disregard towards anything related to his pupils - had made sure that his last task was to issue an essay that would devour the entire Summer holiday. His final promise to the class – before leaving on whatever task Dumbledore had assigned him - was that their new teacher would certainly be collecting it in.

Harry yawned as his pen wavered over the paper. A quick look at the clock hanging on the wall opposite revealed the time to be nearly midnight. He stared back down at the page; yawningly empty, the blank space waiting to be filled almost taunting him. It wasn't that he had to be doing it now, in the dead of night – not since the Dursleys had discovered he had a convicted murderer for a godfather. But he desperately needed something to do until midnight – until the dawn of his fifteenth birthday. The thought of Snape demanding to know why his essay hadn't been handed in was enough to keep him awake until the morning. 

The excitement of looking forward to a birthday was still new to Harry. For the first eleven years of his life, he had expected nothing and received exactly that. Since he'd made friends at Hogwarts, however, he knew that the day should be special and awaited whatever gifts he would be sent via owl post. This year, he was especially excited: there was something about turning fifteen that made this birthday seem even more of an event.

Outside, the black sky crackled with thunder as the rain began to hammer against the window, the ribbon of white that was the moon shadowed as cloud trailed over it in a ghostly grey smear.

Harry felt his eyes start to close as fatigue gnawed at him. He didn't seem to be getting anywhere with his essay; and his eyelids were starting to feel as heavy as lead, begging him to let them shut. He yawned once more, his mouth opening wide.

The pen dropped from his grip, rolled from the bed and thudded onto the carpeted floor. Harry leant over to pick it up, his body brushing against the comforting softness of his pillow. Deciding that he could rest for a few minutes – he had ages left before the new term began – he curled up and let his head fall back, sighing contentedly as the material sagged beneath him.

A moment later, he was fast asleep.

???

Harry opened his eyes. He was no longer in his room; instead, he was looking down on a vast, blackened landscape, shadow obscuring all but the land directly below him, a stone floor surrounded by pointed turrets and battlements, bathed in darkness. It was though he was a giant eagle, swooping over a grand, medieval castle.

Screams of battle rang in the distance. Cries of pain echoed back from the horizon, greeted by the whoosh of flames and the deafening explosions of war.

Then he heard voices. He fought to move, fought to get closer, but he was powerless to see more as two distant figures, locked in a duel, moved into his view. Colours twisted around them in a blaze of light, spells crashing into spells, reflecting off each other as each wizard fought to gain an advantage.

A sickly green light rushed between them as the taller of the two figures charged forward, its skeletal face held in an evil sneer. The other leapt back, a wall of flame rising to deflect the spell.

Shades of mauve, red, orange and yellow flashed in the night sky and swept across his vision as the figures danced back and forth. Harry could see that they were among the most skilled wizards he had ever witnessed; able to block each others work with ease. Twirls of all colours flew between them, spirals painting shapes of death in the chilled air.

Eventually the figures stopped, panting for breath, leaning back against the battlements. He heard faint whispers as they eyed each other beadily.

'You hope to win? You don't have the strength to take me, you fool. You'll die at my hands, just like your parents before you.'

'It takes more than strength to win. I have qualities you could never even dream of possessing.'

With a final, violent cry, the figures hurled themselves back into the fray, an explosion of light engulfing them in magical energy, billowing out in a mushroom cloud as spells collided.

A scream shook the castle walls. The jagged scar across Harry's forehead throbbed with pain.

A brilliant white glow radiated from the heart of the battle, sweeping over the scene in a gust of power. When the light subsided, Harry could see only a broken body lying torn against the battlements, its enemy standing proudly before it, its wand held high. He leant forward, fighting to strain against the force holding him as the victor slowly turned to face him, jerking between each second as if in slow motion, its face wrapped in shadow.

The clarity evaporated to nothingness before his eyes as the pain in Harry's head surged in a roar of anger and the dream died.

???

The clock struck midnight as Harry leapt onto his feet, sweat streaming down his face. 

He quickly looked up at the time, a slow smile breaking the fear of the nightmare as he realised the new day had begun.

He was fifteen.

*****

_What will Harry get for his birthday? And what precisely is the dream trying to say? Find out soon._


	2. Default Chapter Title

# Harry Potter and the Trials of a Hero

## Part Two

### By Locke

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Author's note: It's best to read part one first, obviously! Thanks to everyone who reviewed it; I'm glad you enjoyed it! Enjoy part two, and please post your thoughts!

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???

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Thoughts of the nightmare faded as the sun peeked timidly over the bowl of the horizon, the first orange beads of dawn appearing in the purple sky to peel back the night. The distance gleamed with gold as, one by one, the stars pricked out of existence.

** **

Harry rested his arms on the windowsill as he leaned forward, watching the colours sparkle as the darkness vanished. It was six o'clock: at least four hours until the Dursleys were up and about, seeing as it was Saturday. He had four hours to enjoy, before life snatched him back and reclaimed him.

He had slept perfectly soundly, disturbed by no more dreams. What he saw in his dreams often had the worrying tendency to come true: but everyone he knew, _special_ or not, had dreams at some point. Surely it was possible that Harry's nightmare had been perfectly harmless? It was perfectly reasonable for his subconscious to think dark thoughts, especially after he had so recently seen Voldemort, the dark wizard who had murdered his parents, brought back to life. No one knew where he was now – and that uncertainty was bound to fester at the back of Harry's mind…

By the time the first hoot trumpeted across the garden of number four Privet Drive, Harry had already convinced himself that the nightmare was nothing more than a random thought, just as all _normal_ nightmares were. After all, he wasn't even sure what he had seen.

The sound snatched Harry from his contemplation. A cry from his own owl, Hedwig, who was sitting quietly in her cage on top of Harry's chest-of-drawers, echoed in reply. She ruffled her feathers as a small, grey owl drifted in through the window, a crumpled piece of paper attached to its tiny leg. Its flight pattern erratic, it flitted over to Harry, who did his best to pull off the paper with the owl dancing hyperactively in front. Once he had wrenched it free, the owl flew over to Hedwig's cage and pointed its beak hopefully towards Hedwig's food bowl. Harry got to his feet and obligingly fished out a handful of what looked like nuts, which the small owl took eagerly. Its task complete, it circled back into the air and sped through the window.

At first, Harry was rather put out by his first message being little more than a tiny note. As he turned it over and began to read, however, his interest grew:

_Dear Harry_

_ _

_Happy Birthday! I really wasn't sure what to get you… I asked mum about this book on different types of broomsticks, but she said you'd be too old now for things like that now! I sent Ron a note by owl post, asking what he was getting you, but he only said that I wouldn't appreciate it, whatever that meant exactly. I thought some more and eventually decided on this, a year's subscription to the Daily Prophet! I'm finding it incredibly useful anyway; and, well, with You-Know-Who back in business it might be safer for you to be aware of what's going on in the world. Some of the articles are really quite interesting anyway, I'm sure you'll enjoy reading it! Your first issue should arrive this morning, if all is well._

__

_By the way, how is your essay coming along? I heard some of the guys from Hufflepuff had decided not to do it, since Snape won't be there anymore. I hope you won't be that stupid! This topic's bound to come up on the O.W.Ls… I think I've already done a bit too much; but there's so much to say…_

_Do you want to meet up at Diagon Alley soon? Ron and I were thinking of going next Thursday, if you can make it. Have you got your book list yet? If not, you'll probably get it on Monday! I've got some really interesting things on mine! _

_ _

_Mail me back, if you can come. If not, we'll meet at the station on the 1st! Enjoy your birthday!_

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_Love _

_ _

_Hermione_

_ _

Harry was grinning right through reading the letter: he hadn't seen Hermione since school had finished, but he could imagine her voice speaking to him as clear as crystal, the letter sounding so typically _her_. Only she could find an essay set by Snape interesting… He decided the subscription to the Daily Prophet, the most widely read newspaper in the wizarding world, would be useful though, even if he was trying to put Voldemort and his rebirth to the back of his mind.

Ron's owl arrived about half an hour later, when Harry was lying back against his pillow and staring dreamily at the speckled ceiling. It glided through the open window, swinging in a wide arc as it lowered onto Harry's bed, hooting as it deposited its large package.

Harry thanked the owl, watching it swoop up and leave in a similarly showy manner. He pulled the attached letter from the patterned paper and read it slowly.

_Harry,_

_ _

_Hi, how's your holiday been so far? Mine's been great, except that Dad's been incredibly busy at the Ministry, helping to put down those rumours about You-Know-Who. He missed out on this great holiday to Shepton: it's this town in Ireland where there are no Muggles, just like Hogsmeade! Hermione's family asked me if I wanted to go with them and it was great to spend a week there._

_Anyway, I really hope this gets to you for your birthday. Dads had all the owls busy going back and forth to Fudge all summer, even Pigwidgeon. I finally got time to send you this, which I picked up on holiday. Hope you enjoy it! Herm had a go at me when I looked at it in a bookshop, so I simply had to go back there and buy it! Oh, and have a good birthday._

_ _

_Did Herm tell you about meeting at Diagon Alley? It'd be cool if you could come. Otherwise, I guess I'll see you next month at the station. I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts! Potions might actually be interesting for a change, without Snape._

_ _

_See you,_

_ _

_Ron_

_ _

_ _

Harry smiled as he reached over and took the package, which he unwrapped and held up to the light. It was a colourful, expensive-looking book, with the words "Female Quidditch Players Through the Centuries!" bold against the polished cover. Flicking briskly through the pages revealed a large selection of different essays, on such topics as sexism in the game, the progress of the England woman's team in the last World Cup and the current worldwide stars. Harry noticed that the number of pictures was rather high, before dropping the book down with a slight smile and getting up to change.

After getting changed, Harry wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. The Dursleys were just rising; Harry could hear their son Dudley as his footsteps thundered against the wood. At least he could look forward to breakfast now more than last year, since his Uncle's attempts to enforce a diet on Dudley had ended with a minor neighbourhood disturbance and the loss of Aunt Petunia's priceless collection of china.

Uncle Vernon came down first, just as Harry had poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and was sprinkling milk generously over it. Vernon nodded at him slightly, his head low and his voice a quiet murmur as he spoke: 'Happy… Birthday…'

Harry smiled and opened his mouth to thank his Uncle, only he was already on the other side of his kitchen, his back turned. He wasn't too upset at the lack of any present, considering that an old sock had been one of the more exciting past offerings. He watched as Vernon got his own breakfast and sat down opposite, a stony silence ensuring.

Half an hour later, the kitchen was anything but silent, Dudley and Petunia having made it downstairs. Dudley was whining about Harry having taken a whole half-bowl of cornflakes, leaving him with just enough for two portions of his own; whilst his mother fussed over his hair and took every opportunity to glare scornfully at Harry.

Harry was practised at shutting out the chaos of the summer holidays; he looked blankly down into his bowl and let the noise swim wordlessly around him.

Suddenly, the kitchen exploded with a high-pitched, whining noise, the spoons hanging from the wall reverberating and clanging against each other in a metal roar. Mr. Dursley's mail hurled itself up in a fury as it scattered over the kitchen, his shout of surprise echoing from the walls as Aunt Petunia dived screaming behind the table.

A glowing blue globe materialised in the centre of the table, light billowing out in swirling, jagged stripes. The colour subsided into a gently pulsating throb as a small newspaper appeared in the centre, rising and floating over to Harry before falling into his lap. A tinny, though enthusiastic, voice pierced the stunned silence. 'Thank you for your subscription! We hope you enjoy your complementary pen and continue your time with the _Daily Prophet_ once the year is over.'

Uncle Vernon's face turned a bright, vivid red, as though tinged with fire. Dudley, whose after-breakfast jelly lay in a quivering heap on the floor, shook an accusing finger at Harry, his eyes brimming with tears. 'Hit him, Dad! Hit him!'

Harry grabbed his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and hurried upstairs to his room, where he flung himself down onto his bed and laid the paper in front of him. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bold headline:

** **

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**You-Know-Who Rumours Fuelled by Further Death!**

** **

His gaze widened silently as he read on:

_Ever since the tragic murder of Cedric Diggory, 14, at Hogwarts School last year, rumours of the return of You-Know-Who, last seen fifteen years ago, have spread like wildfire. _

_ _

_The Ministry of Magic, led by Cornelius Fudge, has insisted that there is no basis to these rumours. Says Fudge: 'Any theory concerning the rise of You-Know-Who is baseless nonsense. If we want to get to the bottom of happened, we must look to logic and stop creating simple answers of our own.'_

_ _

_His words have, however, gone unheeded by the general wizarding population. The events of last night will do nothing but further suspicion._

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_At seven 'o clock yesterday evening, two bodies were found abandoned in an alley in a perfectly peaceful town, which the Ministry has forced us to keep nameless. There was no visible damage, suggesting that the victims were killed using magical means; and the dark mark of You-Know-Who was clearly sited on each left wrist. It may have been a random killing – though this journalist thinks it far more likely that You-Know-Who, back from the grave, is exacting revenge on those of his followers that failed to return to him._

_ _

_Shortly after the finding, Ministry officials swarmed into the town. The official statement has yet to be declared, although this journalist suspects that a massive amount of denial and cover-up will be involved. Whatever Fudge may say, he will have a hard task ahead of him if he wishes to convince the public of his views and prevent mass panic._

_ _

_If You-Know-Who has really returned, then surely the Ministry should make it clear that we must start looking for protection…_

_ _

Harry could read no more. He flung the paper down against the bed, his heart freezing as thoughts swilled around inside his head.

He knew that Fudge had it all wrong. He knew that Voldemort had, in fact, risen from what amounted to the grave. For he had seen it himself, less than three months ago.

Images from last night's dream flashed in his mind, buzzing in anger, refusing to be forgotten, shards of memory lodging themselves into his consciousness. He couldn't ignore what he had seen… The last line of the article had obviously been referring to he, Harry Potter – the boy who Voldemort had attacked fifteen years ago, before vanishing inexplicably off the face of the earth.

And Harry had just seen two men fight to the death, some time in the future, the world a ruin all around them. The nightmare seemed realer than ever. Only, as he strained to remember the foggy images he had been presented with, he realised that it hadn't been clear who had won… 

He had to ignore it, though. There was every chance he had had a perfectly normal nightmare. If he jumped to conclusions, if he were irrational, he would be doing no one, least of all himself, any favours.

The torment of living with the Dursleys suddenly appeared inconsequential. Now more than ever, Harry longed to be back at Hogwarts with his friends to confide in…

???

_What exactly was the dream saying? Will Harry be able to take his mind off what he saw? Find out soon._

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	3. Default Chapter Title

# Harry Potter and the Trials of a Hero

## Part Three

_ _

_By Locke_

Author's note: Thanks for all the nice comments! I'm really enjoying writing this, and pleasing reviews make it even more fun :) Not much happens in this part, but please bear with me, it's all leading up to something, I promise!

***

July faded into August, the weather turning warm and oppressive as the blue of the sky deepened, ringed by a crest of burning yellow. Each day, Harry was up at the crack of dawn, watching as the sun rose over the horizon and splayed the garden in gold, waiting for the book list to arrive from Hogwarts.

It finally came on a boiling Tuesday morning, with Harry turning restlessly in bed, draped in sweat as the air shimmered with heat around him. He suddenly heard the window on the room next bang against the outside brick wall, before a sudden whoosh of air broke the morning calm, followed by an angry cry of "Hey!" from Uncle Vernon.

Seconds later, Harry's own window flapped open and an envelope popped through, with an apologetic cry of "Sorry, got the wrong room!" from the postman. Harry smiled slightly, though he hoped that his relatives would not be too annoyed. The atmosphere in the house had been extremely tense over the last few days – ever since Dudley had been asked to stop spending so much time with his new Playstation 2, prompting a tantrum that culminated with the console lying in pieces out on the patio. Petunia had promised to buy him a new one, though it would not arrive from America until next week, meaning that Dudley was prone to explode at the slightest annoyance.

Stealthily, Harry crept out of bed, bent over and scooped up the envelope. He carefully pealed it open and took the letter out, before sitting back down on his bed and holding the paper up to the light. Sure as he could be, it was this year's book list.

He ran his eyes down, nodding resignedly as he caught sight of several hated though expected inclusions. _Advanced Potions: Beyond the Cauldron was new to him though; he wondered whatever Snape's replacement had in store. The word 'advanced' seemed to preclude most of the book titles: it was finally drumming in that this year, the year of the O.W.L exams - the first major wizarding qualification - would be far heavier than the last._

A few more books grabbed his attention. There was the Grade 5 Spell Book, which had heard contained far more interesting and exciting incantations than the previous four; and _Caring for __Magical Creatures Volume 2 – Phoenix to Zugratine, which Harry knew would be interesting thanks to it being set by Hagrid, a man whose fascinations tended to included animals that needed nothing like being cared for._

Once he had digested the information, Harry carefully folded up the paper and slid it back inside the envelope. Now that he knew what he would need for the new school year, he could go to Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione later in the week to buy supplies. 

Harry pulled a piece of parchment out from the pile on top of desk, took a fountain pen and began to write:

_Hermione,_

_ _

_Just to let you know that my book list for Hogwarts came today! Not exactly what I'd call interesting, but as long as someone enjoys it._

_ _

_Anyway, if we're still on to meet at Diagon Alley this week, Thursday would be good! Mail me back if you can come, otherwise I'll see you and Ron there!_

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_Have a good week,_

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_Harry_

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_ _

Five minutes later, Harry's snowy white owl, Hedwig, was gliding effortlessly off into the distance.

_???_

The next few days passed relatively uneventfully. Hermione sent Harry a message back, saying that she, brought by Ron and the other Weasleys would collect him at nine on the Thursday and take him to Diagon Alley, since Uncle Vernon had no intention whatsoever of going anywhere near the place.

Harry debated with himself whether to tell Ron and Hermione about his dreams, especially after the article in the Daily Prophet that suggested Voldemort was again on the move. He had heard nothing about him whatsoever, until the dream had arrived seemingly from nowhere. He had almost started to believe the reports from the Ministry, that it was impossible for 'You-Know-Who' to really have returned. Why was he doing nothing? Why wasn't he playing on the fear coursing through the wizarding world by striking when everyone was wondering what his first move would be? And living with the Dursleys had sheltered him completely from the rumours that must have been buzzing through the community. But whenever Harry began to think like this, began to convince himself, he remembered the sickly thud of Voldemort's first new victim collapsing beside him as forked lightening punctured the air.

So what had the dream been saying? Two men, fighting to the death with the world in ruins around them – to the death of whom, he wasn't able to see. 

Harry eventually decided to leave all thoughts of Voldemort alone until he was back at Hogwarts: in Dumbledore, the Headmaster, he had a mature, powerful wizard that he could confide in, who wasn't likely to ignore anything he heard for fear of accepting it as reality, unlike the Ministry themselves were doing. Harry already had suspicious about the dream – but none he wanted to voice until he had talked about it. And Ron and Hermione, good friends though they were, wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. They didn't have to live with what Harry had to, day in, day out. Either they'd shrug it off as a nightmare, combined with paranoia on Harry's part, or insist that he made as big a fuss about it as possible. They'd demand he mailed Sirius, which would only lead the man into more trouble. Creating a fuss would only make things worse.

Harry suddenly realised, with the O.W.Ls approaching rapidly, how much he didn't need all this.

_???_

Thursday came as quickly as Harry could have hoped, saving him from the tantrums of Dudley, whose broken diet meant that he had to go into town with Petunia that day to buy a new school uniform.

He pulled himself out of bed, staring blearily into the mirror as he rubbed the oily black smudges ringing his eyes. He splashed cold water onto his face, before wandering down into the kitchen and being sure to finish his breakfast before the Dursley's made it up.

At nine 'o clock precisely, just as Vernon had got downstairs and was bending over to retrieve the morning mail from its place below the letter box, a raucous cry bellowed through the air, nearly frightening the life out of the man.

'I'll get it,' said Harry matter-of-factly, marching calmly past his terrified Uncle, who had not had much of a winning streak as far as meeting the Weasleys went. He undid the clasp above the lock over the front door and pulled it open.

Ron and Hermione stood over the threshold, smiling as they caught sight of Harry. 'Hi,' greeted Ron warmly, holding the door open as Harry stepped out onto the drive, looking back to Uncle Vernon and waving goodbye.

'Have a good trip,' his Uncle muttered darkly. 'Make sure you're not back before six, mind.'

The door clicked shut behind them.

'Hi, we've missed you!' Harry grinned as Hermione leant forward to hug him, noticing all of a sudden how different she looked to the mental picture he had retained from last year. It was most probably her brown hair, normally flowing and bushy, being tied behind her in a long French plat. Or her features looking so much brighter, though maybe that was due to circumstances last year that had led to long front teeth being made normal. Or maybe something else.

As Harry untangled himself, Ron marched over. 'How's life with the Dursley's? I hope we didn't stress them out too much by arriving at the front door.'

Harry shook his head. 'Probably better than through the chimney.'

'Anyhow, what have you been up to?'

'Not much,' Harry confessed. 'It's hard to do anything when the people you live with hate you. That essay from Snape has been keeping me pretty busy.'

'Tell me about it.' Ron glanced over at Hermione as they strode together up the garden path. 'Herm's already done six pages.'

Harry smiled at her reproachful glare. 'At least she'll have the rest of the holiday free.'

Her pale face reddened. 'Not really. Ron never said I'd finished it.'

Harry's eyes widened as they walked down the pavement of Privet Drive. Sitting at the end, waiting for them to approach, was a blue car that looked strangely familiar. He tapped Ron on the shoulder.

'Hey, isn't that - '

His friend nodded. It was another pristine Ford. Mr Weasley had been devastated by the loss of the last one, which Harry and Ron had managed to crash into the Forbidden Forest whilst making a desperate attempt to reach Hogwarts three years ago. 

'Dad's been doing so much overtime at the Ministry,' Ron explained, 'that he's finally been able to buy another.'

They opened the doors of the car and climbed inside, Mr. Weasley, sitting at the driver's seat, bending round to welcome Harry – and also, he expected, to ensure that Ron was safely strapped in the back and unable to do any damage.

_ _

_???_

The journey up to London took about half an hour. They could have got there in seconds, had they used their powers to soar over the land and the traffic – but Hogwarts expressly forbid using magic outside term time, and Harry was already very close to breaking that rule for the last time.

'How is life at the Ministry?' Harry inquired politely as they got stuck at the fifth traffic jam, a thick knot of steel twisting across one of the main roads.

'Oh, we're doing okay,' Ron's father replied guardedly. 'There's not much more work than usual.'

'Even with the rumours - '

'There are no rumours, Harry. There are lies and superstition, nothing more. Fudge has made it all very clear.'

Hermione leant over Ron and whispered into Harry's ear. 'Did you get that issue of the Daily Prophet with the murder article?'

'Yeah,' he hissed back. 'If it really was Voldemort…'

She nodded. 'This year could be even more _interesting_ than last.'

All of a sudden, the car came to a halt. Harry stared out of the window. Through the bustling crowds, buzzing with the noise of frenzied activity, he could see the Leaky Cauldron, the inn that led to the mystical Diagon Alley.

'Well,' said Ron's father. 'You've all got your book lists and your money, right?'

Ron and Hermione nodded. Harry replied that he would be able his from the bank in the Alley itself, from the massive stockpile of gold that his parents had left him fifteen years ago.

'Right then. I'll meet you inside the Cauldron, once you're done. Will two hours be enough?'

Ron nodded. 'Bye Dad.'

With that, they clambered out of the car and pushed their way through into the inn.

### To be continued…

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